Cold, alone, muddy and wet
Left to die, by friends that you met

A voice so free, a song cut so short
And yet in your death, your life they distort

Falling over themselves not to mourn
But to throw you their backhanded scorn

They shout of your end and your fame,
But refuse to remember your name

We know what this tale becomes
We read the words that pound like drums
Yes, your body did succumb
But true mourning never comes

Killed by the dog whistle
Killed by the knife
Killed by the headlines
For living your life

Killed by the dog whistle
Killed by the knife
Killed by the headlines
For living your life

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